


Britannia, AD 61

by Antares



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Celts, Kissing, M/M, Physical Therapy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares/pseuds/Antares
Summary: Isca Dumnoniorum, 61 AD. Meredydd hates to work for the Roman invaders, but his sister persuades him. Then Meredydd meets the young tribune Junius Pastorius Pulcher, who needs his help.





	Britannia, AD 61

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Britannien, 61 n.Chr.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167336) by [Antares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares/pseuds/Antares). 



> Many, many thanks go to my betareader Mific who did a terrific job. She had so many great ideas and she made this story so much better! Thank you!!

Meredydd took another walnut-decorated honey cake and leaned back, nibbling on it. He regretted that he couldn't eat more, but his stomach was already protesting. Even reclining on a couch in the Roman style where you ate while lying down didn't let him fit in any more. The painted satyr behind him on the wall eyeing him as if he knew Mer was a greedy-guts didn't help, either.

"So," he said looking at his sister Jehanie who'd prepared the feast with sausages, vegetables and nut cake. "Why'd you invite me today? And why this extraordinarily good food? What do you want?" Mer recognized bribery when it came in such an unveiled – but delicious – form.

Jehanie gave him an innocent look. "Can't a sister prepare a decent meal for her brother who she sees much too rarely?" She poured some more mead into his goblet.

"Well, it's not entirely my fault that we don't see each other more often. You wanted to go with Cilo…Calo…Caleb to Isca Dumnoniorum." His sister and her husband leaving the village of Cetobona which had been their home for many years was still a sore point. "Cetobona wasn't good enough for you anymore?"

"That's not true. I loved living there. But the Roman fortress means work for Caleb."

"Working for the Romans, pah!" Mer spat. "We don't need that. There's enough work among the Britons." He angrily took a large bite of cake, nearly choking on it.

Jehanie held up a hand placatingly. "Work, yes. But not enough paid work, and you know it. You barely make your living as a healer."

"I manage," Mer said, but his sister was right. Most of his patients were farmhands, shepherds, tinkers or silver miners. They were poor and didn't pay him too well, if at all. They needed a healer, someone who knew about medicinal plants and the workings of the body, but they often asked his advice without paying him. If it hadn't been for his sister and her semi-regular visits, there'd have been more days without enough to eat.

"Mer, don't be so stubborn," Jehanie chided, sighing deeply.

Mer put the rest of the cake down on his plate. "What d'you want? Spill!" She couldn't have come to ask him once more to move in with them and give up his house, could she? Last winter they'd tried living together for a few weeks and it had been horrible. They both knew a whole winter would end with one of them throttling the other.

Jehanie put the tips of her fingers together. "I want you to meet an acquaintance of mine," she said calmly. "He needs a good healer, and you're the best. And he pays well."

"I get it." He clapped a hand across his forehead and glared at her. "This opulent meal – it's because he's Roman, right?" Mer didn't like being manipulated; suddenly all the good food lay heavily in his stomach.

"Yes." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I know you don't like them, but not all Romans are barbarians, as you very well know. He's a nice and considerate man. You'll like him."

"Never."

"Stop being so melodramatic, Mer. You work with him, you get paid by him, that's it. He had a bad accident and needs someone to help him get on a horse again. The Roman surgeons don't know what to do any more, but I know you're the best with this, so I told him I'd ask you."

"Fine. You did. I said no. End of story." Mer got up from the couch.

Jehanie slapped her hand down so hard on the small table that the dishes rattled. "No! Not this time. It's only for three months and you'll do it. You always talk about your 'honour', and how you can't reconcile it with working for the Romans, but this time it's also my honour we're talking about. I promised him I'd do everything in my power to convince you. And I demand of you, even beg of you, to honour _my_ honour by agreeing."

Mer wanted to snap back that she shouldn't have given her word without asking him, but at the last moment he kept silent. His sister pressed her lips together tightly and seemed only a heartbeat away from bursting into tears or throwing him out of her house for good. He didn't want that to happen, and Jehanie rarely asked a favour of him. Usually it was him asking her for something, and she always helped.

Three months. Helping an old, injured Roman get back on a horse again – how hard could that be? What with winter fast approaching and him already freezing his ass off in his small straw-thatched house with the rain dripping through ... Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to go to Isca Dumnoniorum. He remembered only too vividly the way his wine had frozen even inside his house, last winter.

"If this job comes with a place to live, I accept," Mer finally declared. "I can't be expected to walk four hours every day from the village to here."

Jehanie smiled at him, relieved. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

\---------------------------------------------------

  
Two days later, Mer had a room in a guesthouse in Isca Dumnoniorum not far away from where Jehanie lived. It was only a short walk to the Roman fortress but Mer still put on his thickest and warmest pants – _braccae_ , the Romans called them – before leaving the house. For the moment it was dry, but dark clouds were approaching quickly from the west that would surely bring rain. Mer wished it was summer.

"Working for the Romans," he muttered while bracing himself against the strong wind. It was so chilly outside that his breath formed small white clouds in the air, and he pulled his cloak closer around him. "Pah! Dumb Romans! I'm only doing this for Jehanie."

Mer had found out that his well-paying patient wasn't a decrepit old patrician living in one of the new Roman villas near the river, but a military man. A _tribunus angustioclavius_ , one of the six young officers stationed at the _castrum_ or camp of Isca Dumnoniorum. The tribune served the legate and governor of Britain, Gaius Suetonius Paulinus, and worked with Poenius Postumus, the _praefectus castrorum_. Mer understood now why getting on a horse as soon as possible was so important for his client – he was an _eques_ , in the cavalry.

Mer arrived at the main gate of the fortress where a young Briton named Evan, the tribune's body-slave, was waiting for him. "It's my pleasure to accompany you to the tribune's house," he said with an accent from Cambria, in the west of the island.

 _That could be you,_ Mer thought. _If the circumstances had been different years ago, you could be a slave now._ Evan didn't look unhappy, but Mer was very glad that he wasn't a slave, because he would have been horrible at it.

They walked down the main street with Evan pointing left and right. "These are the barracks for the legionaries, those are the granaries, and over there the hospital and the large bathhouse."

They passed the legate's residence and came to the smaller tribunes' houses. Everything was still new and pristine, the castrum having been built only a few years ago, replacing a smaller outpost. Evan knocked on the door of the fourth house and ushered Mer inside.

The first thing Mer noticed was how wonderfully warm it was in the house, all dry warmth without lingering dampness. He wanted to stretch like a cat in front of a warm oven.

The slave introduced him. "Tribune, this is the healer Meredydd of Cetobona."

The tribune, who heaved himself painfully up out of a chair, looked like the perfect Roman. He was tall with dark hair, a beautiful face with noble features, and a winning smile. That part wasn't so typical, Mer thought. Perhaps he was a bit old for a tribune, more in his mid-thirties than mid-twenties, but Mer didn't know much about what might slow down a soldier's career. Perhaps he'd been badly injured before.

"Welcome, healer. I'm glad you found time for me in your busy schedule." The tribune smiled in such a way that Mer suspected his sister had told the truth about his financial situation. "I'm Junius Pastorius Pulcher," the tribune added.

"Pulcher?" Mer asked. He'd immediately translated the Latin word into 'beautiful' or 'gorgeous', and found the name very apt.

Pastorius grinned. "My ancestors are responsible for that, but it also translates as 'noble', and that's what I tell everyone."

Mer set his jaw. "Fine with me." He wouldn't be charmed by that boyish grin or that pretty face – no chance. Pastorius was a Roman and Mer had firm opinions about the invaders of Britain. He was only here to work and he didn't have to like his client to do his job. "How can I help you, tribune?" he asked, rather brusquely.

"A few months ago I was crushed by a dying horse, broke my left arm, my left leg, and did something to my hip which still prevents me getting on a horse," Pastorius replied. "They suggested a medical discharge, but I convinced them to give me another three months. I hope you can help me to regain my strength in that time."

Regain his strength to slaughter more innocent Britons, of course. Mer pressed his lips together and kept silent. He gave the tribune a closer look. Pastorius was wearing a toga instead of the subarmalis, the padded jacket worn below the armour. The toga made him look more civilian than military but perhaps that was exactly what he was aiming for, if Jehanie had told him her brother disliked the military. "Take off your toga so I can see how you walk," Mer instructed. "With all this cloth floating around your legs I can't see anything."

Pastorius shot his slave a quick glance and Evan shrugged his shoulders. Mer frowned; it had almost looked as though Pastorius had checked what his slave thought before complying, which was strange. Pastorius started pulling at the toga and Evan came over and helped him remove the garment until he was in his knee-length tunic with the narrow purple-red stripes typical of his rank.

"Walk!" Mer made an impatient gesture with his fingers.

For a second Pastorius hesitated, then he gritted his teeth and started limping from one side of the room to the other, leaning heavily on a walking stick. Mer crouched on the floor attentively watching every movement, registering and categorizing everything he saw, until Pastorius finally asked, "Enough? You checked if the floor is clean?"

Mer looked up, annoyed. "I wasn't–"

Pastorius interrupted him with a forced smile, lines of strain around his eyes. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very professional. It's painful if I walk far."

Mer huffed before looking around. "Is there some place where you can lie down?"

"Of course, in my cubicle."

They went into the adjacent small room with a bed, a small chest and a chair. The walls in this room were painted a dark red with no further ornaments, while the living room, where the tribune had received him, had been decorated with paintings of winged horses and floral designs. Evan lit some oil lamps, and Pastorius sat down on the bed.

"Lie down."

Pastorius complied. Mer sat on the left side of the bed and started running his hands over Pastorius's body. He was better able to concentrate if he closed his eyes, relying only on his fingertips to feel the muscles, tendons and bones. He started at the tribune's ankles, slowly working upwards. No wonder the man was limping. His left knee was swollen, and very probably inflamed. He couldn't put much weight on it. The muscles in his other leg were tense and hard from trying to compensate for the limping, one malfunction causing all the others.

"Turn around and try to relax."

The muscles in Pastorius's back were knotted and even while resting on the bed it was clear that he held his whole body the wrong way to protect the leg and knee that was hurting. Mer's hand was now between the shoulder blades and he could feel the cramping muscles under his fingers.

"I'm sure you also have headaches?" he asked, while kneading Pastorius's neck and scalp, knowing precisely where to soothe the nerves beneath.

"Very often," Pastorius admitted, his voice muffled as he spoke into the mattress.

Mer ran his fingers along Pastorius's arms and found lots of scars and the place were the left arm had been broken. Whoever had set it had done a poor job – perhaps a field surgeon with a lot more injured men lined up to see. Mer could feel that the bones had healed in the wrong way. No wonder it caused pain.

As if he sensed Mer's next words, the tribune said, "I'm fine. It almost isn't hurting any more."

Mer opened his eyes, "Nonsense." He got up and slumped down in the chair opposite the bed.

Pastorius sat up with Evan's help. "So. Can you help me?" The flicker of hope in the green-brown eyes couldn't be missed.

"There's hope, but only if you do exactly what I tell you," Mer said flatly.

Pastorius coughed. "You haven't dealt with the Roman military very often, have you?"

Mer's eyes narrowed. "No, why?"

Pastorius shook his head. "Nothing – I'm only curious. So, uhm, what do you want to... order me to do next?" he asked with the hint of a smile.

"You need warm water for your body to relax, and cold poultices for your knee to get rid of the inflammation. So go and soak in the _caldarium_ for an hour. Don't go to the _frigidarium_ afterwards, just come back here. In the meantime I'll prepare something for your knee."

Pastorius duly limped off, with Evan's support. Sure that his client would comply with his orders meticulously – after all, military men were used to clear chains of command and Romans were well known for their strict discipline – Mer started rummaging in his satchel for the herbs to prepare a soothing mixture.

\------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Junius and his slave were on the path leading to the bathhouse, Junius stopped and looked at Evan. "Have you ever met anyone so rude?" He didn't know if he should be offended or amused.

"No. At least no one who wasn't an enemy," Evan answered with a crooked smile. "I've seen armed Gauls who were more polite."

Junius shook his head. "Remind me never again to trust a lovely woman who says to employ her brother. I had such a nice talk with her during the legate's banquet. We traded stories, laughed a lot, and I never would have imagined her brother was ... like that."

"But at least, domine, he knew about the headaches, even though you didn't tell him," Evan said.

"That's right. So you think I should overlook his, uhm, audacity?" The moment Junius said it, he knew that he would. He wanted to know more about this strange healer with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, even among the Britons. And the healer might be the rudest man he'd ever met, but his hands had been very soft, his touch careful and concentrated.

Evan shrugged his shoulders. "I observed him closely and I think he knows what he's doing. He's probably your best chance to get back on a horse."

"So we'll tolerate his insolence a bit longer?"

Evan grinned. "We'll survive."

After an hour in the warm water Junius was relaxed as overcooked vegetables and they returned to his house. Meredydd ordered him onto the bed again and bandaged his knee with something that smelled like a herb-garden.

"Now we start with your exercises," he said and grabbed Junius's uninjured leg. He rotated it, pulled a bit and everything was fine until suddenly a red-hot pain ran through Junius's body. He bit his lip so as not to cry out loud, but a groan escaped him.

"It will get worse before it gets better," Meredydd said. He prodded and massaged, bending and rearranging Junius's leg again and again. Junius felt tears spring to his eyes and hoped he could blame them on smoke from the oil lamp. Finally Meredydd stopped, the pain faded immediately and Junius let out a deep sigh.

"You're sure that will help?" Junius said tightly. He wasn't convinced anything that painful was good for him. "Shouldn't I do exercises? Or–"

"You've done enough of the wrong exercises already." Meredydd shook his head. "Too much, and far too soon. I know they tell you that you must do it so your leg doesn't stiffen, but see – your knee's swollen and we'll have to wait before we can mobilize it." He continued, with far too much cheerfulness for Junius's liking. "Anyway, we've got enough to do with the rest of your body. Rest for now. I'll come back in the afternoon."

"I'm looking forward to it," Junius said politely, through his teeth.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, days filled with much cursing and complaining and threats to send Meredydd north so the blue-painted savages could rip _him_ limb from limb, Junius's headaches started to get better. After another five days they were entirely gone. Junius woke up in the morning and for the first time in months his head didn't start pounding the moment he sat up. The headache didn't come back during morning muster and the staff meeting, so he was in very good spirits when Meredydd arrived for his morning session.

Meredydd took one look at his face. "What happened? You're allowed to leave this hell-hole of an island and go back to Rome?"

"Why would you ask that?" Junius sat down on his bed.

"You're so disgustingly cheerful and the day's only started." Meredydd rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, you had a rough night?" Junius couldn't keep the leer out of his voice. He imagined Meredydd might have made good use of the other amenities a guest-house sometimes offered. Did he prefer blonde British women or did he fancy the dark haired Roman camp-followers who'd accompanied the legions to Britain?

"No, some of us have to work during the night. I was studying a manuscript, and… and well, I forgot the time", Meredydd answered, a little sheepishly.

Junius eyed him. Work instead of pleasure – if he could trust Meredydd's words. He did look too unsatisfied and grouchy for a night filled with lovemaking. "I'm sorry to hear that. And to answer your first question: no, I'm not leaving. Why would I? Besides, I like it here. "

"You like it here? No Roman likes to be in Britain." Meredydd looked at him as if he'd said something scandalous.

Junius shrugged. "I do. The first two years of my military career I was stationed at Cyrrhus in Syria, and that was much too hot for me."

"Too hot? Does that even exist?" Meredydd started the first exercises.

"Gods, yes. Do you like sandstorms? There was never enough water because the cistern was nearly empty, and the ground was so hot you couldn't walk barefoot" Junius remembered months without end when they'd all thought they'd go mad from the relentless sun burning down on their heads. Worst had been the days when they'd had to wear their full battle uniform, and lots of legionaries had collapsed from heat stroke. No, he had no fond memories of his time in Syria.

"But if it was so horrible there, why do all the Romans I know complain about _our_ weather and temperatures?"

"If you're used to the weather in Rome or southern Gallia then it takes some getting used to." He gave Meredydd a challenging look.

"I like it. It isn't raining today, and it hasn't for the last three days."

"That's because we're waiting for the first snow," Meredydd replied sourly.

"I like snow," Junius said, partly because it was true, and partly as he wanted to hear Meredydd complain.

He earned an eye-roll for that, and an extremely forceful tug on his leg.

"Ouch!"

"Chicken."

"What?" Surely, his ears were playing tricks on him. That was no way to talk to a tribune.

Meredydd stopped what he was doing. He looked conflicted then muttered "Sorry" between his teeth. He added, "It's what we say about people who act weak and squeamishly as if…"

Junius stared at him speechlessly.

Meredydd interrupted himself. "Uhm… that explanation didn't make it any better, did it?" He furrowed his brow and looked with big, anxious eyes at Junius, obviously expecting a punishment or severe reprimand. At least Junius thought that was what he meant, but with Meredydd it could just mean he was thinking up an even worse way to put his foot in his mouth.

Junius tried not to laugh, he really did, but in the end he gave in, laughing until he hiccupped and then laughing even more when he saw Evan and Meredydd exchange bewildered glances. When he was able to speak again, he asked, "Who taught you your bedside manners?"

Meredydd scowled. "I don't need bedside manners for the patients I normally treat, and that's the reason I usually don't take Romans as patients – you never know what will offend them." Meredydd resolutely started working on the muscles in Junius's left leg again.

"Calling people 'chicken' is fine with your other patients?"

"Yes." Meredydd raised his chin.

"Very well. But please explain to me why your sister was able to persuade you to make an exception for me?" He didn't know Jehanie that well, but she didn't seem to be the type to let her brother die of hunger. So if Meredydd really hadn't wanted to help him…

Meredydd shrugged. "I owed her. And in the winter months my house is very cold."

Well, if nothing else, the man was honest regarding his motives, Junius thought dryly.

"The room you reserved for me in the guesthouse is nice." Meredydd changed the topic. "Although not as warm as your house. How do you heat it?"

"Hypocausts. The houses and the official buildings use the same central heating system as the baths."

"Huh. Good idea."

Junius raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you approve of at least one Roman invention."

"Greek invention," Meredydd corrected.

Junius grinned and they discussed some other Roman inventions, although Meredydd said many of them weren't of Roman origin at all. Meredydd knew about a lot more than just the medical procedures he was doing, and time flew by. When he finally took his leave, Junius was reluctant to let him go.

From that day onward Meredydd was still very strict about his healing work, but they started talking about all sorts of subjects while going through the exercises. Junius found himself looking forward to their appointments.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

After only a few days Jehanie started badgering Mer to visit and tell her about his new client. After ten days he ran out of excuses and accepted her invitation. On the day before the Ides of January he went to her villa, noticing for the first time that the paintings in Jehanie's home were in the same style as those in Junius's house.

"That's because they were both done by Caleb, you oaf." She threw some raisins at him. "I told you at least ten times that he's a painter."

"How was I supposed to know he painted frescoes? I thought he was... just painting walls." Mer picked the raisins from his hair and ate them.

"He is, but Romans like decorations like plants, people or animals on their walls. That's what he's doing and he's very good at it. He always has enough orders."

Mer liked the pegasus on the wall of Junius's house better than the diabolical grinning satyr in Jehanie's dining room, but he didn't tell her that.

"Why do you think we were able to buy this villa? Or meet a man like the tribune? That's because of Caleb's work," Jehanie added.

"I…" If he was honest with himself, he'd never really thought about how his sister had made it into the more elite circles of the town in only five or six years. He resented her for giving up so much of her British identity and mimicking the Roman lifestyle, but perhaps if you wanted to impress potential rich Roman clients it was necessary.

"No apology needed. Now, tell me how you like your new work." She offered Mer a plate of almond cakes.

He took one, and with his mouth full of cake, set her right, "That wasn't an apology. And the new work is acceptable."

"Only acceptable? I thought the tribune was very nice – an interesting man." She ate the last sugared fruit.

Mer was annoyed that he hadn't been quick enough and instead took another almond cake. "He is – for a Roman."

"And it doesn't hurt that he's good looking." She grinned at him.

Mer nodded. "Mhmm." What was he supposed to say to that? That he had indeed noticed Pastorius had a well-trained body? A lovely face? Long, elegant fingers? A seductive smile?

"He's easy to talk to, isn't he?" his sister said.

"Mh... hm." Yes, Pastorius had a sense of humour that made him… happy. Sometimes. And sometimes he was so stupid Mer wanted to cry. Because not listening to your healer and standing at parade rest for two hours because some Roman dignitary was visiting was idiotic.

The only thing that had made it better had been Pastorius' admission that he'd been an idiot, accompanied by a look from under his lashes that had made it very difficult to berate him for his foolishness. Mer didn't want to tell his sister the way that look had made his knees weak and his heart beat faster – he'd even felt the blood rush to his cheeks. No, he couldn't talk to Jehanie about that.

When Jehanie asked again if he was happy that he'd taken Junius Pastorius as a client, he only made another non-committal sound and stuffed an almond cake into his mouth.

Jehanie sighed long and deeply.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The next day, Mer was carefully massaging the muscles around Pastorius's injured knee when a centurion arrived, urgently demanding to speak to the tribune.

"Is it a matter of state?" Pastorius asked.

The centurion thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No."

Pastorius waved his hand. "Then speak."

"As you've ordered, we were measuring the exact content of the wine barrels from Lugdunum, and we found there's no theft from the legionaries going on. You were right, sir. The two wine barrels we examined more closely have roughly ten percent less wine in them than the merchant made us believe."

"So it's some sort of double lining?" Pastorius asked.

"We await your permission to disassemble one of the barrels."

Pastorius tapped a finger against his chin then said, "Do it. When do we expect the merchant with his next delivery?"

"In about a month. But if it keeps snowing, he may be delayed."

"I see. Well, here's what we'll do. Find out if there's also less wine than we officially bought in the other barrels. If that's the case, we'll let the merchant verify those are his barrels when he comes to fetch the empties. If he admits those are his, we'll punish him accordingly."

"Very well, tribune."

"And give the men an extra wine ration for suspecting this in the first place."

"Yes, tribune." There was a hint of a smile on the centurion's face as he saluted perfectly and left the room.

Mer grinned teasingly. "I thought you were a military commander? Now you're responsible for… household chores?" He knew full well that Roman men hated nothing more than to appear 'feminine'. The way he'd phrased it, it sounded more like Pastorius was swinging a broom than organizing the camp's wine.

Pastorius pulled a face. "As a matter of fact, I am. A tribune is responsible for all sorts of things, and as I'm not able to participate in any type of training they gave all the administrative work to me, like supervising the stores, making sure the gates are secure, and overseeing the infirmary. People report to me if there's a theft, or other criminal activities." He took a deep breath. "I hope that changes soon. I'm burning to get back in the saddle. I miss running, even miss marching for hours – I miss being able to march. I'm sure I'm already forgetting how to hold a sword."

Mer snorted. "No, no. I'm sure that's something no Roman ever forgets." He renewed the poultice on the tribune's knee. "Speaking of fighting – I heard that governor Suetonius went to the isle of Mona to defeat the rebellious Druids?" Not that Mer had much sympathy for the Druids who had made it very clear to him that he lacked a formal education, didn't possess enough 'spirituality', and more importantly, came from the wrong family to be ever considered a Druid. On the other hand they had held a large store of British knowledge and he would regret that loss.

"We're waiting each day for a messenger to tell us he was victorious," Pastorius replied.

"And if he was defeated?"

"The Legio II Augusta is one of the most successful legions." There was pride in Pastorius's voice. He hesitated, then asked, "You fear for the lives of your Druid friends?"

"They're no friends of mine, but I hate people being slaughtered."

"So do I. I prefer well organized battles." Pastorius said thoughtfully.

"Yes, because that's sooo much better." Mer poked a finger into Pastorius's thigh.

Pastorius winced, and glared at him. "It is. It's more… elegant, and I love the tactics behind the great battles of the Empire."

"Killing people, killing people," Mer singsonged.

Pastorius laughed and nudged him with his foot. "I heard there was enough killing between the tribes here even before the Romans arrived. 'Killing people' isn't a Roman invention."

It was true, there had been many battles and struggles for power, influence and land between the different tribes. That was human nature. Whenever there was something to gain, people started a war instead of trying to solve it with a logical discussion. Mer sighed. People were so incredibly stupid it pained him. "Unfortunately, you're right."

For a moment both of them were lost in their own thoughts, then Pastorius suddenly looked up. "Hey, do you want to accompany me and Evan to the baths tomorrow morning?"

Was that some sort of… peace offering? Or a consolation prize? Or was he over-analysing again? Mer gave himself a mental slap on the head. Did he want to accompany Pastorius, yes or no? Did he want to soak in the amazingly hot water? "Of course I want to go with you!" he said, nodding vigorously.

"Perfect. Then you can see for yourself the progress I've made – at least in the water – and that I'm as good as new."

"We'll see," he said, trying to dampen Pastorius's enthusiasm but Pastorius was grinning at him, and he grinned back.

Later, in his bed, Mer wondered if it had been a good idea to agree to visit the baths with Pastorius. After all, everyone had heard strange and horrible stories about the debauchery and moral rot of the former imperator Caligula. Who knew if the current emperor Nero wasn't also whoring around and forcing people into perverted couplings? Who could be sure the same goings on weren't found in the Roman military wherever it was stationed?

With this disturbing thought, Mer fell asleep and dreamed of orgies involving men, women, and animals. But first and foremost he dreamt of a certain dark haired tribune who was only interested in him. In his dream, Mer welcomed the tribune's lust and his lecherous advances.

When he woke up he was hot and out of breath, arousal still heavy in his limbs. With sleep-fuddled fumbling he took his dick in hand, and with only a few strokes reached his climax. "Damned Roman!" he groaned two minutes later into the crook of his arm, feeling satisfied but confused, guiltily hoping he hadn't been too loud in the guest-house.

\--------------------------------------------------------

The next morning Junius wondered if he should cancel the visit to the bathhouse. Why had he invited Meredydd? Since when were sad blue eyes enough reason to throw all caution to the wind? While munching on his bread and cheese he remembered stories about barbarians who were said to lust more after men than women and who spent their nights with at least two lovers rolling about on the skins of wild beasts. Of course that wasn't really any more debauched than what was accepted by most Romans. The difference was that his compatriots most likely weren't fantasizing about a gruff, blue-eyed barbarian – as Junius more and more often did in half-dreams before completely waking.

Meredydd's soft, warm hands reminded him that it had been a long time since he'd been to bed with a man who'd taken the time to learn every detail of his body. The last and only time had been with Nikodemos, a slave of his own age in his father's house. Before he'd gone to Syria they'd formed a friendship and experimented together, but their roles had been determined by society even if Nikodemos hadn't been deterred by Junius's position in the household. None of his other encounters even merited being called 'bed-partners'. They'd been fleeting connections during war-campaigns – there was nobody he really remembered.

Meredydd was different. He was a free man and they met as equals, even if Meredydd made it more than clear that in some domains he felt superior. Junius was amused by that; he didn't feel threatened if Meredydd reprimanded him impatiently because he didn't do something exactly as Meredydd had told him. Junius's daydreams when the healer was working on the muscles in his thighs were different from the daydreams he'd had so far.

In these dreams with Meredydd it wasn't always Junius who commanded. With a thrill born from shame and desire, he saw himself lying below Meredydd before he banished this thought resolutely. If these daydreams happened during one of the therapy sessions he had to think really hard about the British winter so as not to betray his interest involuntarily. Despite all the rumours about the debauchery of the British, he didn't know what the healer thought about love-making between men.

"Have I already mentioned how much I hate this weather?" Meredydd started complaining loudly and verbosely about the heavy snowfall the next morning as soon as he arrived, fussing about his shoes that were soaked from the short trip from the guest house to the fort. There was no dangerous 'barbarian lust' about him, only loud annoyance, and Junius chided himself for giving any credit to the stories.

The three men went together to the bathhouse, which was still empty because all the legionaries were in the main court training and exercising. Evan helped Junius disrobe and folded the garments before he placed them in a niche in the wall. When Meredydd looked a bit lost, he told him to use the adjacent niche. When they were all naked they went directly to the caldarium where they sank into the warm water.

After a moment savouring the luxury, Junius said, "By the way, we have news that General Paulinus was victorious – he defeated the Druids on the Isle of Mona. The Roman troops got there in shallow boats and conquered the island. On his way back, the general was held up because he's trying to find out if it's true that Queen Boudicca of the Iceni is marching towards Camulodunum."

Meredydd frowned. "The Iceni? But they surrendered to the Roman army decades ago and are Rome's allies."

"I've heard that the king died and Queen Boudicca is his successor. She's assembling an army. That's all I know."

"More fighting and dying." Meredydd sighed.

"Perhaps these are only rumours," Junius said, trying to reassure him. To take Meredydd's thoughts off the difficult political situation he added, "Hey, look how easily I can move." All the exercises were so much easier when he didn't have to support his own weight in the water. It felt like he was nearly his old self again and able to do everything he longed to do. He waited for Meredydd's praise after demonstrating his abilities.

"Not too bad", Meredydd said. "But there isn't an underwater legion in the Roman army yet where they let you ride seahorses. No field duties for you – not yet."

Junius swallowed. Direct as always. Not what he wanted to hear, even if he knew deep inside that Meredydd was right. He wasn't strong or flexible enough yet. So far he was barely able to walk from the castrum to the centre of the town. "But I have made a lot of progress," he said, unable to keep the hurt undertone out of his voice.

"Good progress, yes, but you need patience. You aren't a youth anymore, so healing takes more time."

"Hey! I'm not that old!"

Evan coughed and didn't meet his eye, but Meredydd didn't reply. Instead, the healer tilted his head and fixed Junius with a calculating look. "But you're too old be a tribune, aren't you? Shouldn't you at least be a prefect? Or even back in Rome, sitting behind a desk and tyrannizing your underlings?"

"I tyrannize nobody, not even my impudent healer." Junius grinned.

Meredydd wasn't distracted by the answer. "What happened?"

"Years ago I made a silly mistake," Junius said, shrugging. "That was the end of my career, but at least I'm allowed to stay longer in Britain, so it's a pretty good deal, isn't it?" To distract Meredydd further he addressed his slave. "Evan, can you fetch something for us to drink?"

Evan fetched three goblets of watered wine and the cool drink contrasted nicely with the hot water they were soaking in.

"When will I be allowed to go riding again?" he asked Meredydd, after a while. "And no, not seahorses, but real horses."

Meredydd surprised him. "We could go riding in two or three days. But only on a trial basis – not too far, and we'll stop immediately if your hip causes you pain. And if you lie to me about that, it'll be your last ride for a long time." Meredydd gave him a stern look, as if he was a wayward boy who couldn't be trusted.

Junius mockingly arched a brow, because Krateos, his Greek tutor, had spoken in the same way to him. It hadn't really worked. Even as a boy he'd already been strong-willed about what he wanted to do and when. But in the meantime he had – hopefully – learned a thing or two, and he wouldn't risk the progress he'd made so far. "I only do what you tell me to do," he assured Meredydd with a wink.

"So much modesty. It's suspicious," Meredydd said and put his empty wineglass on the edge of the pool.

Evan had also finished his wine. "May I go for a quarter of an hour to the _frigidarium_? Meredydd is here if you need anything."

"Gods, Evan! I'm not a tender flower. I've told you more than once you don't need to mother-hen me." Junius huffed out a frustrated breath – the two of them were worse than all his wet nurses and tutors put together.

"I…," Evan began, then he stopped, clearly forcing himself be polite. "Yes, domine. You know that I didn't mean it disrespectfully."

"It's fine, Evan." Junius turned to Meredydd and explained. "Directly after the accident, Evan stopped the military surgeon from amputating my lower leg. After that, he cared for me day and night and made sure the leg didn't fester. I owe him my life as well as my leg." He looked up at his slave again. "You're allowed to fuss."

"Thank you, domine. I will." Evan grinned, took his towel and disappeared.

"While I'm thanking everyone..." Junius looked at Meredydd, "I'd better not leave you out. I'm very grateful for all you've done. If I compare what I can do now with a month ago, I've made so much progress. I'm happy Jehanie was able to persuade you."

"I won't tell my sister – it will make her insufferable, but… well, yes, I'm also happy I started working with you."

"Only because of the nice warm room?" Junius teased.

"Certainly," Meredydd replied, immersing himself in the water then reappearing, spluttering.

Drops of water were running down his cheeks and Junius felt an overwhelming urge to follow the drop running towards the corner of Meredydd's mouth with his finger. To caress Meredydd's lips, and… By Jupiter, he didn't even know if Meredydd liked men – and even more importantly, if he'd ever trust a Roman. Suddenly Junius realized how one-sided the touching had been so far. Meredydd's hands had been nearly everywhere on his body but he had no idea how his skin would feel under Junius's fingers.

Without thinking it through he put his hand on Meredydd's arm.

"What…?" asked the healer, but he didn't pull his arm away.

Junius needed an explanation. "I… I only wanted to say that… your hands are wonderful." Gods, what a horrible sentence! He sounded like an immature boy, but he'd studied the art of rhetoric with the best teachers – teachers who'd praised him for his eloquence! He wasn't gaining any laurels today. Angry with his own clumsiness he went to pull his hand back.

Meredydd put his hand over Junius's, keeping him there. When Junius stopped trying to move his hand, Meredydd loosened his grip, his fingers tracing small, calming circles. Meredydd cleared his throat. "I…I'm pleased to hear that."

Junius nodded. "I… uhm…" Was this the signal he'd been waiting for? With fascination, he followed the movements of Meredydd's Adam's apple, until he was staring at his lips.

"By Belenos!" Meredydd snapped. "Do you want to kiss me or not?" He stopped any reply with a gesture of his hand. "If it isn't allowed to ask a tribune something like that, or if Romans don't kiss, then, then…"

Thank the gods, Meredydd was also at a loss for words. That was a novelty, and it obviously meant he was as unsure as Junius. Junius caught Meredydd's madly waving hand. "Yes, Romans kiss." He slid closer so that there could be no misunderstanding his intentions.

"Not as well as the Britons," Meredydd declared with utter conviction and pressed his lips to Junius's.

Junius laughed so his mouth was already open when he felt Meredydd's lips. Their tongues met, Meredydd's thumb gliding softy and inquiringly over the soft skin under his chin, following the scar caused by Junius's helmet strings.

For a second Junius feared rejection, but it seemed Meredydd was the braver of them, kissing Junius fervently and making such longing noises Junius started to tremble. The careful, healing hands which he'd felt so often glided over his arms and found their way to his chest – only now with a different purpose, and it felt even better.

When Meredydd touched him Junius didn't know how to stay calm and master himself as Roman custom dictated. He had to feel Meredydd's skin under his fingers and his hands slid over the roundness of shoulders, followed the curve of astonishingly strong biceps, over Meredydd's chest, and down to his waist. He felt Meredydd breathing quickly and harshly into the kiss, and the tension which had built up between them in the last days crystallised. He pressed his tongue into Meredydd's soft mouth – an absolute contrast to the biting remarks it usually yielded. He grinned – he'd found an amazing way to stop Meredydd's diatribes. Junius put more force into his kiss.

Their movements in the water were languid and somewhat hard to control – Junius groaned when their groins accidentally touched. There was no doubt about Meredydd's interest. Relief and anticipation flooded Junius's body and he tried to pull Meredydd closer.

"Perhaps we can find a better place for…for this." Meredydd kept him at arm's length, caressing his wet hair. "Your mobility's better in the water, but the comfort of this stone bench leaves much to be desired."

"Who's the chicken now?" Junius teased.

Meredydd shook his head, grinning. "You're using the word absolutely in the wrong context, tribune."

"Call me Junius, like my friends do."

"Fine, Junius. My horrible sister called me Mer when she was too small to say my name correctly, so most of my friends call me Mer. If you'd like…"

"I would." Junius sealed it with a kiss.

Someone coughed behind them and Evan asked, "Shall I return later?" His face showing his amusement.

"That's not necessary, we're leaving." Junius accepted the towel Evan gave him.

They dried and clothed themselves but as they stepped out of the bathhouse a centurion arrived and told Junius there was news from Camulodunum, and that he was expected at an extraordinary staff meeting immediately.

"I'm sorry," Junius said, gesturing at the centurion frustratedly. "I have to..."

"Yes, yes, go and be a Roman," Meredydd said brusquely, turning away.

Junius grimaced and limped off after the centurion.

\---------------------------------------------

Banks of snow glittered in the sunlight, covering the soft curves of the landscape with white under a clear blue sky. It wasn't too cold – Mer had to admit that even in winter there were some nice days, but only if you could return to a warm room afterwards. He'd walked to a small hill nearby, to enjoy the view. But as spectacular as it was, it was just an excuse – he'd mainly come there to think.

The kiss had been… perfect. Yes, perfect was the only word that fit. Never before while kissing had he felt such tingling in his nerves, a feeling like hunger. Only this time he craved a Roman, which was unfortunate. Falling for a Briton would have been so much easier.

Mer knew the Romans had some strange ideas about what was permitted between men and what wasn't 'manly' enough. He didn't define his manliness by his position during love making though, so he was confident they'd find something that suited them both. At any rate, he was sure he had enough talent and powers of persuasion to bring Junius around to his way of seeing things.

So what if people talked? It didn't bother him one iota what other people thought about him. He'd never listened to their opinions before – and they'd never given him cause to value their opinions because most people were simply too stupid – so he wouldn't start now. The only person whose opinion mattered was his sister, and she'd be fine with his decision – she'd practically forced him to take Junius on as a client and had teased him about Junius being pretty. She wouldn't care who he shared his bed with.

His bed, Junius's bed, Mer realized he didn't need endless soul-searching, he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Junius, and Junius obviously wanted him. Only time would tell how things went in the long run. In these turbulent times, you couldn't plan too far in advance because no one knew when the next uprising or rebellion might start. Mer was secretly glad that Junius wasn't yet fit enough for war. Perhaps he never would be again, which eased Mer's worries. He was somewhat shocked to find that he now put Junius's well-being ahead of the lives of his fellow Britons. It seemed he had new priorities.

More at ease with himself, Mer strolled back to Isca Dumnoniorum and bought some good wine in a tavern. While there he heard the latest rumours about Boudicca. People said her kingdom had been pillaged by the Romans but she'd been victorious in Camulodunum. The gossip said that thousands of Roman soldiers were dead and she was marching to Londinium with an ever-growing army. He hoped she didn't make a detour through Isca Dumnoniorum.

Back in his room, he waited for news from Junius. It came in the afternoon – an invitation for dinner at the tribune's house. Mer hoped Evan could find something to do to get him out of the house.

Unfortunately, Evan was there when he arrived. He fetched food from the military kitchen, where it had been prepared especially for the tribune. Evan served them different olives, fish, venison, cabbage and leek seasoned with _garum_ the ubiquitous Roman fish sauce – which didn't totally meet Mer's approval even though he loved the dried apples, pears and figs that were dessert. Evan ate with them and they talked about the Queen of the Iceni's campaign. Junius didn't have any more information than Mer so they could only speculate whether the report about thousands of dead Romans in Camulodunum was the truth, or if it was just rumours to fuel Roman fears.

Mer's thoughts drifted to another attack nearly a decade ago when Romans had come to the village where his family lived. They'd quickly defeated the poorly armed men and women, killed the survivors or herded them together to be sent to Rome as slaves. Sometimes, on sleepless nights, Mer still heard their cries and saw in the sky the fiery glow of burning houses. He heard his mother's imploring voice telling him to guard his sister and the other children before she joined his father to defend their home.

Shouldn't he feel satisfaction that perhaps some of those same legionaries who had brought death and pain to his family had been killed by the warriors of the Iceni? Mer sighed. He felt only resignation and weariness when he thought about all the new suffering and the hate – plus reprisals against Britons with no part in the uprising – that would mark the coming months. He understood Boudicca, understood her motives, but he would rather they'd signed a treaty. Not all Romans deserved to die and Jehanie was right; you couldn't tar everyone with the same brush. Junius was different.

"Mer? You're very quiet." Junius cocked an eyebrow.

Mer took a breath. "Ten years ago a Roman officer spared my life and saved me from becoming a slave," he said, looking at Junius. "It was a Roman attack on my village, and my mother had trusted me to take a dozen children, one of them Jehanie, to a cave and hide them. One of the children started crying and betrayed our hideout. A squad of legionaries found us but the commanding officer prevented them from killing us. He said that murdering unarmed children was against Roman honour. Some of the soldiers protested, but in the end they left us alone. So you see, there are–" Mer interrupted himself. "What's the matter? Why d'you look as if you've seen a ghost?"

"I…" Junius stopped, his hand trembling on his wineglass.

"Tribune Junius Pastorius was that officer," Evan said quietly, ignoring Junius's shushing motions. "You asked why he hadn't been promoted and was still here in Britain? Well, that's why."

Mer stared at Junius. "You? I owe you my life?"

Junius grimaced. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" he said uncomfortably, turning to Evan and adding, "I'll have a word with you later."

Evan smiled, undaunted. "As you wish, domine."

"No promotions, and no respect even in my own home," Junius grumbled with a put-upon sigh.

"My respect for you just increased a hundredfold," Mer said, surprising himself by finding the right words. And they must have been the right words, because Junius's eyes were shining brightly, even as he tried to deflect the compliment.

"The wisdom of the gods takes strange paths," Evan said, and got up. "Domine, if you don't need me any more I would like to … uhm … do something which won't bring me back before dawn."

Mer stared meaningfully at Junius trying to make him say "yes". He was either good at this whole mental influence thing or Junius felt the same impatience, because Evan had barely finished when Junius said, "Absolutely! I mean, you certainly have a great deal to do until tomorrow morning."

"A very great deal," Evan assured him with a sparkle in his eye, then he took his woollen cape and disappeared.

Finally they were alone. It wasn't the first time, but Mer was aware of a certain weight of expectation between them. Junius seemed to feel it too, not meeting Mer's eyes and aimlessly pushing some bread crumbs around on the table. Mer decided it was up to him to break the ice, as he'd already done in the bathhouse. He smiled. One more thing he was better at than Junius.

He got up and offered Junius a hand. "Come next door with me." He indicated the bedroom with a tilt of his head. " I could show you how damned grateful I am for the decision you made years ago." He waggled his eyebrows in a – he hoped – seductive manner.

Junius took his hand then skimmed his fingers up Mer's arm. "Yes, you could do that. Again and again until I finally get it. And then it'll be my turn to show you how grateful I am for everything you've done for me." He took a deep, shaky breath. "And then, once we're done–"

Mer interrupted him. "We'll never be done."

"Fine with me." Junius's face became serious. "Do you think Evan is right and the gods have a hand in this?"

Mer laughed and tangled their fingers. "I don't think so. And whose gods would that be – yours or mine? No, if we want to thank anyone we should thank my meddling sister. I can assure you there's nothing divine about Jehanie, but I'm very happy she persuaded me to work with you."

"So am I. And now come on." Junius pulled Mer with him in the direction of the bedroom. "I want to touch you everywhere," he said hoarsely, his voice full of longing. He looked Mer in the eyes, his pupils blown and dark.

Mer felt anticipation and desire pool in his belly. "Romans are always so impatient," he complained theatrically as he was dragged along. But it was good that this Roman was impatient, because he burned to finally feel Junius's hands on his skin, to kiss the small moles on Junius's back, and do all the things he'd dreamed of.

A blissful warmth settled in Mer's body and he knew that he'd found the best remedy of all against the cold British winter.

 

\-------------THE END------------

 

©Antares, September-November 2017

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know more about Boudicca's uprising, here are some sources (besides Wikipedia): 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPshF-lRLhY (The Roman Empire – The conquest of Britain)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZN3e3q-4Xlc (The Battle for Britannia 60AD)  
> http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ancient/romans/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Britannien, 61 n.Chr.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167336) by [Antares](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antares/pseuds/Antares)




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